


Non Compos Mentis

by InterNutter



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Off-screen abuse, implied nastiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One life can make a difference. One decision can change that life... and all those that it touches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non Compos Mentis

Disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution belongs to the Warner Brothers, Marvel, and anyone who owns them. Possibly Disney. Sara Louise Adrien and this story are mine. All cameos belong to their cameo owners. Please respect this poor author and don't claim my words as thine.

Non Compos Mentis  
InterNutter

"So what are you in for?" said the pale girl with the black hair. Her nametag read, _Wanda_.  
"Cut off my cousin's privates with a carving knife," said Sara. "Well... almost. What are you in for?"  
"I almost destroyed my house."  
"What? Like, literally?"  
"There's another way?"  
"Mom says I'm something of a homewrecker, myself," Sara confessed, "but I rarely did any literal property damage."  
"Okay, children," said the shrink. He wore tweed. "Let's make our introductions. My name is Doctor Philips and I will be guiding you on our journey of self-discovery and healing."  
Wanda stood. "My name is Wanda and I have rage issues."  
Sara was next. "My name is Sara and my Mom put me in here so dear cousin Roals wouldn't have to face attempted rape charges and I wouldn't go to jail for hacking half way through his penis."  
The next girl stood. "My name is Marjorie and I *used* to be queen of the ward. You *rock*, sister!"  
"Ahem," said Doctor Philips.  
"I mean, I'm here for OCD and Pica."  
"My name's Debbie and I poison people," said a small waif.  
"I'm Sandra? And Doctor Philips says I'm an egomaniac."  
"Excellent," said Doctor Philips. "Sara, you're new. Why not share more about why you thought violence was the solution?"  
"Let's see," said Sara. "I'd already told my Mom, his Mom, *and* the police and he still tore my dress up, tried to tear my underwear off, and had his member out and at attention. He had me down and nearly helpless. Were there other options *besides* letting him rape me, Doctor Philips?"  
"Now, Sara," soothed the doctor. "The police report clearly states that you phoned in a hoax before the... unfortunate event. Your cousin showed no signs then of... shall we say... suspicious activity?"  
"He hid his erection behind the bar and lied like a rug," protested Sara. "He's good at it!"  
"And then there's the matter of evidence," said the doctor. "There's no proof of attempted rape. There *is* a long history of violence against your cousin."  
"I dare you to prove any attempted rape, Doctor. And by the way - just how did I manage to stab him without going through his clothes at the same time?"  
"Roals told the police that you overpowered him and pulled it out."  
"Roals has a story for every occasion. He's also twice my weight and fights for a hobby."  
"You have a very solid story, Sara," said the doctor. "And so does Roals. Unfortunately, you also show evidence of... shall we say... an involving fantasy life."  
"What, I make a few movies and suddenly I'm not a good witness?"  
"Is it true that you call your aunts and mother and grandmother 'the Gorgon Patrol'?"  
"It's a code to protect their identity on the internet."  
"And what about your journals?"  
"That's to protect *me*."  
"Sara... I'm sure you believe everything you say... but your mother is worried you may be... unstable. I can't prove to you that you're living in your own fantasy any more than you can prove to me that anything you tell me is real. We have to move on for the others, now."  
He mentally turned her off. Just with a flick of thought, he made her into something he could safely ignore.  
Sara made herself comfortable. She was used to being invisible.  
Wanda talked about feeling abandoned by her father, wanting to go back to him, yet afraid of being hurt by him again.  
Marjorie spoke about her odd cravings and the need for numbers.  
Debbie spoke of the dark things her father, uncle and their friends kept doing to her, and why she put rat poison in the brownies she made for them.  
Sandra was convinced that everything was a plot to keep her down.  
Small wonder her claims of attempted rape went unheard, here. It was hard to tell illusions from reality.  
"Where did Sara go?" said Doctor Philips.  
"I'm still right here," Sara waved. "Hello."  
"Where were you?"  
"I was right here, thinking," she said. "How exactly do you define 'reality'?"  
"Reality is what everyone and physical evidence can agree on."  
"An elephant walks down a hallway. Some see it pass and others do not. The elephant leaves no footprints, nor dung, and leaves without a fuss. Who is to say that the elephant was really there?"  
"Cute," said Doctor Philips. "But that is not a real-world case."  
"How about a poodle? One whose owner had dyed it bright pink. You're the only one in an office who saw it come and go. Or so you think. How would you find out if anyone else saw it? How could you prove it was really there?"  
"You're trying to trick me, Sara. It's not going to work."  
"I'm merely opening your mind to my side of the debate," said Sara. "Now imagine that some others around you not only saw the poodle, but knew it intimately -BUT- they have a vested interest in the poodle never having been there."  
"Then it would be in my best interests to play along."  
"Even if you knew it was carrying a virulent disease? Something like a cross between Ebola and AIDS?"  
Doctor Philips smiled. "You're very clever, but I refuse to participate." He closed his notebook. "Art therapy is in an hour. You all have free time until then." He switched them all off and beat a hasty retreat to his office.  
The small, crappy TV had bad reception of some 24-hour sports station and no remote and a guard who would not let her change the station. One girl was having an intimate conversation with a wall. Sara sympathized entirely. There were uncomfortable plastic chairs, and a low table with some ancient magazines on it. Sara examined them and discovered they were Art Therapy leftovers. Two other girls were playing a game in a corner with approximately half a deck of cards and three chess pieces.  
The orderlies would not allow her to leave the common room.  
There was nothing to Do.  
Sara sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs and thought. There was no way she could prove to Doctor Philips that what she had said happened... happened. He was not inclined to investigate the word of a crazy person. And anyone in an institute was automatically insane.  
Lovely.  
What she lacked was the official cover story. The one that the investigating officials would be told time and time again in order to cover dear cousin Roals' rapist butt.  
They could not claim the interaction was consensual. For a start, cousins were not legally entitled to entangle like that. Secondly, the stabbing kind of eliminated the whole consensual angle.  
Therefore they would make it Insane Sara's fault.  
Ah yes. Blame the victim.  
Her 911 call had been blown off as a hoax.  
Therefore they'd say the attempted rape was some kind of cry for attention on Sara's part. Poor ugly thing just wanted to be wanted, in her own sad and twisted way.  
Damn Gorgons.  
They would publicly pity her - a girl who wanted to prove herself a woman to her idiotic peers - and decry her actions as some kind of psychotic break. Hm. That might fit. Sara, tired of being a virgin and already, quietly, mentally unstable, approaches dear cousin Roals on the subject of incestuous sex. Roals, being the pinnacle of human virtue, refuses. Sara gets angry, fighting to get at her prize. Roals tries to fight her off, tearing her dress... and somehow the knife gets involved, and it all winds up in blood and tears.  
Such a plausible story. No wonder she thought of them as monsters.  
*  
Doctor Philips meant well. He wanted his patients to grow into sanity and wellbeing. He just assumed that the first story told was not the true one.  
Right now he was analyzing Sara's old notebooks and journals. The ones he could decipher, anyway. Sara's newest journals were full of impossible pictograms. Walls of them, surrounding intricate pictures of amazing detail.  
The oldest were scrapbooks filled with mementoes. Put together at age two, according to the dates.  
At age three, she began practicing the alphabet. Then labels appeared on some amazingly detailed pictures, for a child of three. Mom, Dad, me and so forth. She made a storybook of one day. The final picture and sentence read, 'The next day I wrote and drew the story of my day'.  
She'd bound it herself.  
Very intelligent as a child. Very possibly a genius, he noted.  
Her journals were certainly happy enough. They became diaries of a sort before she turned four. Her days were full and her hours long. There was evidence of troubled sleep - always a danger sign - and an allergy to sedatives, which meant that he and his staff would have to try other things. Her known list of peculiar medical reactions lead to an understandable paranoia with even over-the-counter drugs.  
In order to avoid a lawsuit, they had to keep her drug-free.  
Damn.  
That meant, in turn, going back to older methods of therapy, though he would stop short of the ones that crossed the borderline between therapy and torture.  
In the meantime, there was bloodwork and CAT scans, just to make sure there was nothing physically wrong with her. A complete physical.  
That'd take a week or so.  
During that time, he'd try to ascertain if the rape was a fantasy or a delusion.  
*  
"Forensics," answered Sara.  
"That wasn't an answer to my question."  
"No, but it's a partial solution to my predicament. If dear cousin Roals oozed anything before I cut him, it's bound to be on the remnants of my dress. Liquid and I tend to spread about." She snapped her fingers. "Oh! I have thigh bruises. From his knees? If it's possible for me to consent to that, then I fully consent."  
"You'll be having a full medical exam this afternoon, Sara. I want to move on to your... fantasies. Your dreams."  
"My dreams are surreal and my private fantasies shall remain just so."  
"What about pretend games? What do you play at?"  
"There's no point in playing. I'm too old."  
"You're ten. Play is normal."  
"Tell my mother. She threw out most of my things."  
"Ha! Dad just threw *me* out," said Wanda.  
"My parents wouldn't let me keep anything," said Marjorie.  
"Dad used to beat me with my things," said Debbie.  
"Guess I was lucky," said Sandra. "I got everything except the opportunities I needed to get ahead."  
"Opportunities are overrated," said Sara. "Private schooling? Dull. Dance classes? Dull. I didn't quite get so far as all the other coaching, but the only thing that was interesting was learning Dressage."  
All girls spontaneously exploded in an orgasm of horse-worship, and the day was officially a write-off. At least they were temporarily happy. Doctor Philips let them chatter until it was time to take Sara to the infirmary for her checkup.  
*  
She did have the bruises from his knees. There were also restraint marks on her wrist more consistant with rape than fight for the knife... but not absolute proof. He sent her recovered dress to a forensics lab to search for suspect body fluids.  
He took a peek at her journal. Page after page of tiny, intricate symbols and amazingly detailed drawings. He put it back exactly how he found it.  
After they finished checking her condition (lack of body fat, suspected extreme dieter, possible maturity issues) Doctor Philips escorted her back to her room.  
"How is your cryptography, Doctor?" she asked.  
"Huh?"  
"You opened my journal. *Could* you read it?"  
"You have no evidence I did anything of the kind," said Doctor Philips. "Don't succumb to paranoia."  
"I left a thread between the pages," said Sara. "It's not there any more."  
"Ah," he said. "Yes, I looked. No, I can't read it."  
"Why not admit it in the first place?" Sara wondered.  
"You have a history of violent outbursts. It was... prudent."  
"Why, Doctor," said Sara. "I thought the least thing you'd do is *check*."  
"Check?"  
"On the sort of people I tend to get violent *against*, of course." And with that, she skipped into the common room without a backwards glance.  
_Whackoes, nutjobs and lunatics... oy veh..._  
*  
Sara laid on the floor and leaned her legs up the wall. "That does it," she sighed, "I'm officially bored out of my skull."  
"And it's only your second day," said Wanda. "Imagine being here most of your life."  
"Mmnno thankyou... I'd rather have a nice daydream."  
"Yeah?"  
"Like... when I get out... the first thing I'm going to do is visit Ben and Jerry's for a sample-a-thon."  
"When I get out," said Sandra, "I am going to be discovered at last."  
Marjorie ignored her. "When I get out... I'm going *shopping*. I'm going to get me some all *red* clothes."  
"Why red?" said Wanda.  
"It ain't Scrubs Blue," said Debbie. "When I get out? I'm going to stuff myself on fresh fruit. I'm'a find me a farmer's market and go *nuts*."  
The girls laughed.  
"I want a pony," sighed Wanda.  
"I want a dress that actually *fits*," sighed Sara.  
"I want flowers," said Debbie.  
"I want candy," said Sandra.  
"Stoopid Nuthatch," said Marjorie.  
"Did you poison your abusive male relatives, Deborah?" asked Sara.  
"Yeh..."  
"Sounds like justifiable homicide to me."  
Cackles from the girls.  
"Yeh. And that cousin o' yours sounds like he deserves castration."  
"Thanks."  
"You too."  
*  
"He held me down by the back of my neck and made me stick my bottom in the air. Then he pulled my panties down and..."  
"It's okay," said Olivia. "Take your time."  
"I tried to look for something. Some identifying mark."  
"That was smart. Did you see anything?"  
"He... had a scar on it. Like... someone had tried to cut it off," she burst into weeping. "I wish she *had*."  
Olivia left them with the counsellor and passed the news onto Stabler.  
"Same guy. He's getting himself a pattern. Blitzes them when they're asleep, keeps 'em down... That's three. I'm still stuck chasing warrants for all medical files on guys who got their dicks sewn back on."  
"Labs have come back on the first rape kit. This guy's not using a glove... no sperm count?" she read further. "Our rapist is pre-teen... had a vasectomy... or taking hormones... or both."  
"That's got to narrow it down," said Stabler. "See if we can get a John Doe warrant on this bastard."  
*  
Sara had found a way to use her invisibility to her advantage. She could sneak into the offices and read the books. Admittedly, most of them were psych texts, but at least it was something to *read*.  
She never went into any office that was 'in session', though. That was a violation she would never perform.  
Then one day a bald man in a wheelchair opened the door and said, "You too, Sara. Come along."  
Sara put the book back, sharing a Look with Wanda. She had no idea of what was going on, either.  
"My name is Professor Charles Xavier," he said, "and I can help the both of you."  
"Just us? What about Sandra, Debbie and Marjorie?"  
"There are only so many causes I can fight. I'm sorry."  
"So why us? I know there's nothing special about *me*," said Sara.  
"For a start, neither of you are actually insane. You may yet be driven so if you remain here."  
"I'm kind of hard to drive," Sara warned. "I break psychiatrists. Not usually on purpose."  
"Nevertheless. My other reason for selecting you... is your unique genetic traits."  
"Wait. Sara's a mutant, too?" said Wanda. "Are you like my father?"  
"I'm not going to experiment on you, if that's what you mean," said Xavier. _But I am also a mutant. A telepath, to be precise._  
Sara grinned. "Oh please do that to Doctor Philips. He *so* needs medicine from his own spoon."  
"Tempted though I am to do so, Sara... it would be very wrong. I plan to... convince this hospital to release you into my care. And I'm afraid it's going to be somewhat... arduous. For us all."  
Both Wanda and Sara deflated. "Thanks for the Icarus Syndrome," Sara murmured.  
"Sorry, but I mean to offer you hope. I will be arriving for sessions on alternate days. In the meantime, I must ask you both to... endure. Until such time as I can release you."  
*  
"We got a hit."  
"I thought we had all the rapist's victims," Stabler gestured vaguely at the board that was filling with photos.  
"This one predates the others by about six months." A photo of a ruined party dress. Torn down the front. "Pre-ejaculate was found under the blood. And it's all *his*."  
"The girl in this dress cut our guy?"  
"And they sent her to a psychiatric hospital for her trouble," said Olivia. "I've already started the subpoenas."  
*  
"Sara isn't ready for this kind of interview," warned Doctor Philips. "She has a history of violent episodes and something like this might set her off."  
"We'll be careful," said Stabler.  
"Her delusion about the rape would only receive justification if you mention the case you're working on."  
"She was raped, too?"  
"No, she's still a virgin," he answered. "She claims she was *almost* raped, but cut the offender in self-defense."  
"Cut him where?" asked Olivia.  
"Where he most offended, of course."  
Stabler got right up to him. "We have five women who can only identify their attacker by his scarred penis. If she's the girl who put that scar there, we have a case. We have a case against him. We have a case against his family for covering it up, and we have a case against *you* for trying to tell a serial rapist's first victim that it was all in her head. Now get out of our way."  
Sara was in art therapy. When they started asking her about the attack, she picked up a sketchbook and started working on it as she talked.  
"The police report says you phoned in a hoax before the attack," said Olivia. "It wasn't a hoax, was it?"  
"Boys will be boys," Sara intoned, her hand never stopped moving. "That's the motto from Mother's side of the family. Daughters must be dutiful and beautiful, but boys will be boys. I watched them delay the police while the others pried him off of me and hid him - the important, damning part of him - behind the bar. They kept him slicing lemons and limes for the punch during the interview. And not one of the police thought to *check*." She sighed. "They made sure the police were gone and told me to stop playing, quote, 'silly games' unquote. And then they left me alone with him."  
"But you still fought," said Olivia.  
"With the very same knife he was using on the assorted citrus," she smiled and added, "I imagine that must have stung."  
Stabler had to wipe the smirk off his face.  
"And after that?"  
"More police and an ambulance. They whisked me away fairly quickly. I was committed in that very dress. Tears, bloodstains and all." She tore off the page, folded it neatly, and handed it to Olivia. "This might be helpful for -ah- photo lineups."  
"What is it?"  
"A drawing of dear cousin Roals' -ahem- equipment. Plus the scar I put there."  
She peeked. Almost photo-realistic. The title was obscurable, and gave 'dear cousin Roals' his full name.  
*  
"Oh, I'm much happier," Sara told Charles. "Apparently Roals is trying old tricks in new areas. I may be fully vindicated, yet."  
The Professor smiled. "Go on."  
"They came asking about my -er- trigger event," said Sara. "I drew them a picture."  
Oh dear. Judging by her thoughts, it was a very accurate one. "This may complicate matters in some areas, but it remains good news."  
"Oh, I'm sure I'm still bonkers for cutting him anyway. Or the Gorgons will find a way to make it all vanish. Or dear cousin Roals will come up with one of his famous excuses. Nothing ever goes straight when there's Gorgons in the picture."  
Only with him, or the other girls in this place, did she feel safe using her peculiar shorthand.  
"Wanda?"  
"I'm glad for Sara and all? But my Dad hasn't shown any sign of wanting me out of here. The sooner I'm gone, the better."  
*  
"A drawing of a penis, no matter *how* photorealistic, is not admissable when drawn by an inmate in a lunatic asylum," said the ADA. "Sorry."  
"Damnit," sighed Olivia. "We coulda had him."  
"You won't believe this," said Munch. "Three guesses who just posted a picture he entitled, 'What Drives Them Wild' on his blog?"  
"Great. Now we just need to manage a photo lineup with six scarred Johnsons," said Stabler. "How hard could that be?"  
Three of his fellow detectives started giggling.  
"Shut up..." said Stabler.  
They did, eventually, find five other scarred caucasian penis photographs. The one that matched Sara's picture - the one belonging to Roals Daniel Favisham, was the one witnesses picked every single time.  
*  
"Motion to suppress identification of the accused."  
"On what grounds?"  
"Poison fruit, your honour. The investigating team were essentially following the word of a crazy woman. She's the one who named my client, leading the team to watch his blog and so on."  
"With respect, your honour, it's looking like our breakthrough witness isn't as insane as some people have been lead to believe."  
"If she isn't insane, why hasn't she been released?"  
"Because her current psychiatrist believes that her experience of attempted rape is nothing more than a delusion. We found evidence of the attempted rape on the party dress marked as People's exhibit 2A."  
"Are we certain that this is *his* DNA in this -ah- sample?"  
"We have several uncontaminated samples that match the blood on the dress."  
The judge smacked down his gavel. "Both of you get independent psychiatrists to assess this breakthrough witness of yours. Let's hear it from her own lips if we can."  
*  
"Wanda can have the floor," said Sara to the good Professor. "I'm all but talked out."  
"Oh?"  
"Hot and cold visiting shrinks. I did my level best not to pull any stunts with them, since they were focussing on my violent outbursts and dear sweet cousin Roals. Don't know if I succeeded. Bleh."  
Wanda laughed. "It even got on the TV before the orderlies turned it off. Your Dad's suing everyone he can think of to get you free. Colour me green."  
"I know your father, Wanda," said Xavier. "His excuses for putting you here... were nothing short of feeble... and the greatest errors a man could make."  
An orderly knocked on the open door. "Visitor for Adriens? I was told she was in here?"  
"Boo," said Sara, right next to him. "Did they leave a name?"  
"Olivia Benson."  
"Off I go again. Sigh. Bon Chance, dear Wanda. And you, Professor." She skipped behind the orderly because it kept her visible. She'd gone invisible a number of times in transit, causing panics and diverse alarums. So now she skipped.  
Olivia had her drawing and a folder almost hidden under one arm. "Hello, Sara."  
"Hello, Ms Benson." Sara sat down. "Some concerns vis-a-vis the case?"  
"You read people very well," she said.  
Sara shrugged. "It's just a trick."  
"I'm a little worried," she confessed. "Your picture... the one you drew? It shows a very accurate scar... rather than the cut you put there."  
"I've some experience with how wounds heal." Sara drew up her sleeves. "These are the direct result of a mis-strung harp, before you ask. See? I used a closer model and some knowledge of anatomy to hypothesize how it'd heal up."  
"It's one hundred percent accurate," said Olivia. She bought out a photo. "This is a recent snap from his blog."  
"Hm. Monumentally stupid of him," said Sara. "No. Not one hundred percent. Look." She pointed out the disparities. "I misplaced five of the stitches. There, there, there, there, and there."  
Olivia raised her eyebrows, looking again. "Either way, someone could argue that you'd managed to see it after the injury had been inflicted and treated."  
"Not if you point out the differences in court. Preferably before the defense does."  
"You know they're arguing about how sane you are versus how well you can fake being sane."  
"Oh good grief... Anyone could argue that a sane person in an asylum is faking sanity. That's grade school! How can anyone in an asylum prove they're sane? Especially if their shrink says they're not?"  
"That's what our side is saying."  
"So of course their side is doing anything to discredit me. Have they unearthed the fistfight in the boarding school?"  
"What?"  
"Head girl was a raging lesbian and intent on forced conversion. So I refused just as enthusiastically."  
"Really," said Olivia. "She tried to rape you too?"  
"I sense your skepticism," said Sara. "She was capital-S Society, so our lawyers buried it under censure. You might want to see if Felicia has come out, yet."  
"Felicia Chilton?"  
"That's her! Last I heard, she was doing the benefit circuit."  
"She's a very public bisexual, now," said Olivia. "She's been campaigning for equal rights for transsexuals."  
"Well, at least she's not in the closet. See if she remembers me."  
*  
Felicia Chilton's apartment. Upper East Side.  
"Sara Louise? Oh yes. That. I deeply regret what I did to poor Sara, and I quite forgive the three teeth she forcibly removed. We got over it, eventually. And poor mother finally forgave her last year." A smile. "When I settled down with my girlfriend, Sally."  
Sally bore a remarkable resemblance to Sara Louise.  
"And the statute of limitations is long over," said Felicia, "so I have no trouble testifying."  
"And what about Roals Favisham?"  
"That demented boy wouldn't lie straight on a stretcher," said Felicia. "He's practically pathological. Stole my tiara, right off my head and in front of everyone, and then said I said he could have it to smash. Little bastard."  
"And Sara herself?"  
"Ah, Sara. Dear Sara. So brutally honest that the whole world thinks she's lying. Poor girl. It's those beasts on her mother's side of the family, you know. Horrible social climbers, the lot of them." A malicious grin. "They're every worst colour of 'ist' you can imagine. Racist, genderist, ageist, et cetera. Use it against them on the stand, eh?"  
*  
"Your current therapist says you're very clever."  
"My current therapist says a lot of things," said Sara. They'd let her buy clothes so she could appear civilized. She'd done her best with dress and jeans and a colourful scarf. "One among the many is that I'm completely bonkers. I'm inclined to disagree."  
"He also says that you're clever enough to fake being sane."  
"I could say the same of you. Care to disprove it sufficiently?"  
The People's lawyer smirked. "Quite. That's the hard part, isn't it?"  
"Yes. Having met some genuinely insane people, I can happily say I don't share their illusions, but that's hardly proof. Likewise, thinking oneself perfectly sane is a certain sign of insanity... and so is confessing insanity. I'm done like a dinner coming and going."  
The judge had to wipe a smile off his face.  
"And do you think of yourself as perfectly sane?"  
"I happen to think I'm as *im*perfectly sane as the next person walking down the street," she said. "My personal quirks are a little odd, but so's a fear of the number thirteen, or carrying around a rabbit's foot for luck."  
The judge glared at her. Whoops. She'd meant to aim at the defendant's lawyer.  
"Why were you admitted to the asylum?"  
"I attempted to cut off my cousin Roals' penis," she said, "and I wouldn't stop saying it was in self-defense."  
"You claim your cousin tried to rape you."  
"Yes. And it's a claim I stand by."  
"And did this claim lead to your psychiatrist sending your dress away to be analysed?"  
"I suggested the possibility of such a test," she said, "but he never told me whether or not he followed through."  
*  
"Do you believe Sara could fake sanity?" asked the defense.  
"Sara is of such high intelligence that she could fake anything she pleased," said the shrink on the stand. "Only an expert could tell the difference between the act and the genuine article."  
"Do you know of any such expert?" said the defense, asking one question too many.  
"Yes," said the shrink, "Professor Charles Xavier."  
Sara grinned like the cat who had found the canary in the cream. She was as good as free and dear cousin Roals was as good as toast.  
*  
It was still a long trial. Money like the Pierce side of the family can buy the lengthiest of law proceedings and the wiliest of cross-examiners. Yet they were mysteriously foxed at every turn.  
The prosecution knew where all the metaphorical bodies were buried, and bought up every last bone. It was as if someone were ferreting all the secrets out of dear cousin Roals' brain.  
Sara felt she owed Professor Xavier big time.  
Doctor Philips wasn't exactly discredited, but a large volume of his patients were re-assessed and he now worked in a team of fellow learned who would debate his conclusions.  
But Sara and Wanda walked free.  
*  
Her roommate was a cheerful redhead two years her senior and five inches shorter. She not only greeted Sara with a handshake, but the mental spidery-tickery feeling that meant a mental scan.  
"Are you sure you're sane?" said the redhead. "That was an awful lot of static."  
"It's normal for me," Sara explained. East balcony. Lovely. "I process enormous amounts of information very rapidly. Trust me, it can get to be a curse."  
"That must suck," said the redhead. "I'm Jean Grey."  
"Sara Louise Adrien, my mother's a big fan of yours."  
"Ouch."  
"Wanda Magnus in the next room over used to suffer me when we were both in the nuthatch. Just in case I start speaking in tongues, she makes an adequate translator."  
"Oh... kay...?"  
"Relax, we're not crazy. We have proof."  
"That's... not as reassuring as you might think."  
Sara laughed. "Oh, just wait until I get back into the swing. So many projects. So little time."  
"Now you're scaring me..."  
"Oh relax. It's not like I deliberately *try* to cause permanent damage. I'm very careful about that."  
Jean did her level best to not make any sudden moves.  
Sara did her level best not to do her evil laugh.  
*  
Wanda kept to the reds, and they did her complexion well. Sara, though, tended to favour purple when she didn't succumb to bright and sparkly or tees that betrayed her core weirdness. And yet, she was the only mutant in mutant manor without any apparent powers.  
Certainly, she could cause fear and trepidation among those who knew her with nothing more than a legal pad and this week's Ritual Pen. Or inspire vulture-like curiosity with a sketchbook and pencil. Therefore, at least for the latter, Sara was wont to take her art to places where people didn't know her.  
And that was how she espied Todd.  
Having spent some significant time in the asylum, she gleaned something of a vibe for troubled souls. He stood as if expecting attack from every corner. He walked like a victim. Scurried, actually.  
Sara followed him home from the grocers.  
"Quite the load, there," she said.  
"It ain't that heavy," he mumbled. He had both arms tight around four bags.  
"Perhaps not, but... it certainly looks awkward. Let me help?"  
Baleful yellowish eyes glared out from under a mop of unkempt hair. "Ain't never no help," he said. "Not with no angle."  
"As I'm fond of saying, there's always a first time for a second chance."  
"Huh."  
"I take it you don't believe me."  
"Damn straight, yo."  
Sara peered into the bags. "Awful lot of instant meals, there. Doesn't your family cook?"  
"Mom can't. She's... sick."  
Sounds like you need a helping hand," Sara produced one of her business cards. "I can also help with any cleaning that's gone awry."  
"Can't afford t' pay," he muttered.  
"And you won't take charity?"  
Another baleful glare,  
"How do you feel about sweat equity? Some of my enterprises need assistance and--"  
"How d'you feel about slaggin' off?" he snarled. "Don't want no help, don't need no help an' I can manage... FINE!" By some sympathetic magic, he managed to wrangle a key free to open his door. He was through in an instant and slammed it shut.  
Too late by instants.  
Sara had already smelled it.  
*  
Mrs Gammage.  
She was one of the elderly Sara was a 'helping hand' for. Sara came by once a week to help her out with the little things that she had trouble with, these days. And all the things that were too tall, too stiff, or too fiddly for her.  
She was very nearly ninety-eight when she died. Some two days before Sara's last visit, she passed away whilst watching television.  
Sara would never forget that smell as long as she lived.  
She had to spend an infinite half-hour in the same house with it until the authorities arrived. Phoning relatives and friends. Trying to find somebody who was both close enough and in possession of enough time to take care of things.  
*  
Sara ducked around the corner and contacted the Professor.  
"Trouble *again*, Sara?"  
"Heap big bad juju," she said. "And I suspect he's a mutant like me."  
"Oh?"  
"There's certain physiological anomalies the average eye would miss," she said. "He's jumpy as all get-out, poor thing."  
"Tread *very* carefully. I'll send Logan by, later, with the essentials."  
*  
He couldn't go into the kitchen any more. Not with the smell and the flies. Todd had sealed the windows with foil, tape, and that expanding foam stuff they filled walls with. A week later, after the neighbours complained again, he'd closed the doors to the kitchen and done the same.  
He could still smell it in his nightmares. He could feel it creeping out whenever he ran past the sealed door, like a solid thing. It lurked in shadows waiting for him to make that one tiny slip that would land him in jail with Uncle Manny.  
He couldn't cook a lot, but he could fry and he could boil with the help of the little camp stove that used to moulder in the bottom of his closet. He could do enough laundry to keep his teachers from asking questions about his upkeep.  
But there was no money to pay the power bill, and Pops' wallet was still in his pants. And his pants were on his body... which was rotting in the sealed-off kitchen.  
The last time he tried to go in there, he had to run and puke.  
He couldn't go back.  
The telephone rang. Probably the phone company calling about that unpaid bill.  
He answered with, "You my Pops is sick fo' the tenth time. We ain't got nothin' to pay nobody."  
"Hi," said the voice on the other end. "My name's Sara. I gave you my card, remember?"  
"What the--?" How the hell'd you get this number?"  
"It's taken me this long to look you up in the phone book, I'm afraid. I also have to tell you that I know your parents are not just sick."  
"You, they're very sick an' I tole you to slag off."  
"I've spent time with the dead, myself, dear."  
Blam. Instant chill down his spine. "Who the hell are you?"  
"Someone who genuinely wants to help you," she said. "If you'll give me a chance."  
He looked out the window. There was a payphone, an open-air model, with the phone book on top and open to somewhere in the T's. He could see the wind ruffling the edges, but not leafing through it...  
...and the handset was hovering in midair!  
Todd blinked. And there she was. Just like that duck/rabbit picture or the maiden/crone one. "How the hell'd you *do* that?"  
"You can see me?" Her head moved, looking towards his home. "It's not often I meet someone who knows how to Look. Believe me, *not* being invisible is the problem. Do you have any idea how demented it looks to skip everywhere at my height-- Oops. I'm ranting. You have way bigger problems than me, guaranteed."  
"How the hell are you doing this, lady?"  
"Deductive reasoning plus observation plus..." a sigh. "Plus a devout need to help someone. Anyone. Out of a dark place."  
"Why? What's your angle?"  
"Ever see the movie _Pay it Forward_?"  
"...yeah?"  
"A lot like that."  
He let her in. She didn't say a thing about how unclean the place was or how bad it smelled. She did see what he did to the doors.  
"How long ago?"  
"Five weeks."  
"Eek. Crunch time, dear. The record for DUN's is something like two months. You're on the cusp of discovery and how really mutant are you?"  
"I can spit stuff and make my tongue go long and jump like nuttin' on Earth."  
"Hm. Definitely got it in one. I think it's half-past time you bugged out."  
"Why?"  
"The first person they tend to blame is the last one on the scene."  
"That's what I was scared of."  
"So pack some clothes. I'll remove the newest layers... you go get everything you can't live without."  
"But--"  
"Yes?"  
"What're we gonna do? How do we explain?"  
"We're going to leave the door unlocked and wait for all conclusions to jump themselves." Sara tidied away the camp stove and bagged the newest levels of trash. "People will believe in the simplest solution... and it's best for all concerned that you never came home after you ran away from the fight."  
He hurried to do her bidding. That chick had some freaky weird shit going on.  
*  
Going into the Xavier institute was like riding into Narnia. The lush gardens spoke of this place not being part of the ordinary world. Sara, beside him in the van, seemed to emphasise this by fading in and out of view.  
"Lemons," said Sara out of nowhere.  
"What?" said the grumpy driver.  
"We're going to need them. A lot of them. It gets rid of the lingering scent. Something about destroying lipids, as I recall. Oh, and I may have to borrow the big juicer."  
"No improvements," rumbled Grumpy. "Not even if it 'needs tweaking'."  
Sara grumped and pouted.  
Now the grumpy guy grinned. "Yeah, yeah. I'm no fun."  
There was a young man and woman playing tennis. Neither were using a racket. An African-American summoned small clouds to water some plants. As he and Sara left the car, more people emerged from the mansion.  
Todd's attention was riveted on the girl. Just a little older than him and a vision in shades of red. He almost completely ignored the bald guy in the wheelchair. He definitely forgot about Sara.  
*  
Charles blinked and gave up on his welcome speech. Well. Now he knew what it felt like to 'go invisible' as Sara put it. He instantly raised his admiration of her patience and fortitude as a direct result.  
Sara waved at her sister ex-lunatic and said, "Since you have his undivided attention, you can show Todd around, Wanda-dear. I'll move his things and get the lemon juice."  
"Lemons? Why--?" her nose crinkled as the breeze shifted. "Oh."  
"...and I can tell you if you ever need anythin', yanno..." Todd grinned. "I'm you'r man."  
"I need you to take a bath," Wanda managed.  
Todd shrank. "Sorry. Um. I have a thing about baths an' that."  
"We can help," said Charles. "For instance, I know that, amongst other things... you have an allergy to certain soaps. Also, our bathing facilities have pure water available."  
"Um," said Todd. Nightmarish visions of his past flickered through his head.  
"And the best of locks."  
He boggled. "You all got Jedi mind powers or somethin'?"  
"Only some of us," Charles allowed. "I made the institute to be a place of safety for mutants like us. A place where we can be ourselves."  
Todd thought about running. "You won't wanna keep me here," he said. "No-one wants to keep me."  
"Speak for yourself," said Sara. "*I'd* like you to stay rescued. Please?"  
He shrugged. "Meh. I'll try it for a week."  
*  
"Good morning, starshine... You lead us along..."  
Ugh. Trust the tall psycho to be an aggravatingly cheerful morning person. He thought about dragging himself over there and telling her to can it, but Wolverine had said not to. His reasons included a deep-felt desire to castrate any peeping-toms. Todd hadn't asked what that meant.  
He washed, glad of the pure water and expensive soap, and crushing every last flashback to Unca Manny with the recollection that the sleaze was in prison. And besides, he was locked in.  
They got new clothes for him as a matter of course. He owed them big time.  
Then he smelled breakfast.  
He practically floated downstairs. Bacon. Eggs. Waffles. How he missed them all.  
Sara gently pushed his forehead away from the hotplate with a, "Careful, dear, the bacon spits."  
"I'll spit back better. C'mon, I'm starvin', yo."  
"Have a muffin. The bacon will be ready soon."  
The muffins were like biting into Heaven.  
Wanda arrived with a chorus of angels and the world's cutest frown. "Are you wrecking diets *again*?"  
"I don't force people to eat, dear."  
"But the smell! It makes people hungry! I already have an ass the size of Utah!"  
Todd looked. "Mmm-Mm! Utah never looked *that* nice..."  
"Slag off, green boy, it's too early in the morning."  
Todd deflated, and tried not to flinch when the older students breezed in. Other than the fact that the redhead levitated things and Sara faded in and out of his visual field like the Cheshire cat, the breakfast conversations were as normal as peach cobbler. Toilet seats and toothpaste caps and hair in the sink. Todd quietly ate and boggled at it all.  
Logan waited until he was nearly finished eating before throwing a white parcel at him.  
"What's this?" said Todd.  
"Your Gi. You get ten minutes to get changed."  
The room cleared with astonishing speed. He took it as an unsubtle himt to run like hell for his room and change as quick as he could.  
*  
There were rules for everyone. Don't take Scooter's tic tacs. Don't say 'freak' as a means of describing anyone. Ever. Don't prank Logan, for he is unsubtle and mind-bogglingly quick to anger. Only Sara could get away with it, because her pranks were practically a work of art.  
Other rules included: No messing with the gardens. Don't use the word 'crazy'. And above all else, be good.  
He tried lifting wallets to help the Professor, in the early days. While he appreciated the good thoughts involved... the method left something to be desired, as he put it. The pocket-picking skill was useful against an enemy, the Professor added, but he had to be certain he wouldn't be making any new ones.  
Besides, there were better ways of earning an income. Sara had hundreds.  
Weird, tall Sara, who looked at him as if hypnotised, sometimes. Sara the genius who never seemed to sleep, who was in all the AP and Advanced classes. Scary Sara.  
He reluctantly joined some of her hobby-jobs, mostly as muscle to lug things from point A to point B. Yet somehow, he was inevitably roped into the work face and he'd yet to spot how she did it. It was an education, sometimes, the way she explained things. Other times, he nodded and smiled as the whole thing went straight over his head.  
But she was nothing like Wanda.  
Gorgeous Wanda.  
Perfect Wanda.  
The very image of his perfect dream girl.  
The second week at the Institute, he started composing poems to her. Not that he showed anyone. They were awful and he knew it.  
He flirted and tried to impress. Constantly. He had motive to do well and damn near broke his heart trying to be best. It wrecked him. Daily. And every morning, he got up and tried again.  
*  
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"  
Sara leaned back against the bleachers. "I'm officially bored. You?"  
"With Wanda in the cheerleaders? Unh-unh."  
Then the local footballers came over. "What's up, ladies? Enjoyin' the lesbo show?"  
"That's lady, singular," corrected Sara, "and gentleman," she gestured at Todd. "And nobody can testify to the cheerleaders' sexuality except themselves."  
Todd rolled his eyes. "How many times I'm'a have to tell you not to *do* that? It'll be just like Roanoak street all over again, S."  
"Or the corner of 5th and 22nd," said Sara. "That one was particularly poetic."  
Everyone remembered that one. It was the death knell of the Froshtie cull. And news everyone still talked about.  
"That was you?" said one of the jocks.  
"Sara Louise, Kharma Incorporated." She used some sleight of hand to make her card appear, then offered it to them. "And by the way? Don't mess with geniuses, for we may one day be your Finals Tutors."  
"Only if you live," said Dunc, and grabbed Todd right off the bleachers.  
*  
Sara watched the ambulances and sundry crews mop up the debris. "All those explosions and not one frame of decent footage," she sighed.  
Scott's fists tightened. His jaw clenched and he came over with the Sullens.  
Sara followed his line-of-sight. Oh. Yeah. That. She could pick out Todd bringing the cheerleaders hot beverages. And he always had a cookie for Wanda. Sara sighed. "Yeah. Sucks pretty much bad."  
"Mmh," said Scott.  
"Still. Bright side... not entirely your fault? Dunc's the one to punch your shades off. There's no such thing as controlling your blink rate during that kind of thing."  
"Prof thinks so."  
"Want me to argue your case?"  
Scott smiled. "Thanks. But... no thanks."  
Sara watched Wanda punch Todd as he tried to embrace her. "Is it just human nature to want what we can't have?"  
Scott shrugged. "Dunno. Let's get everyone home."  
*  
"We're headed out, Professor."  
"Just a minute, the five of you. There's someone I'd like you to meet."  
As a group, they trooped into the library, where a hooded figure waited in the shadows.  
Sara threw a vulcan salute. "Greetings."  
"This is Kurt Wagner. He arrived late last night from Germany."  
"Oooh... [How's the weather over there, when you left?]"  
Kurt shied behind the Professor.  
"Yo, it's okay," soothed Todd. "We don't bite."  
"Unless the interested party requests it, no?" Sara jibed.  
Scott offered his hand. "Ignore those two. They have a habit of being annoying. Scott Summers. Pleased to meet you."  
Kurt shrank away.  
"It's all right, Kurt. You're among friends, here," soothed the Professor.  
Sara breathed, "Oh... wow..." as Kurt took his hand out of his pocket.  
She was grinning by the time he shyly put his hood down. "You are so totally awesome!" Sara shrieked. "I mean, I was theorising physical adaptation may be a consequence of the X-gene, but-- WOW! Did you change? Was it rough? Or don't you want to talk about it? Does your family know? Did they get upset? Have your metabolic ne--mmf mrrf mffl."  
"Try breathin' between questions, yo," said Todd, owner of the muffling hand over Sara's mouth. "We is how we is an' none of us can help it, a'ight?"  
"Mmmrf."  
"At least save the questions until the dude's over jet lag." Todd grinned and shook the fuzzy, tridactyl hand. "Name's Todd. Sara's kinda from the planet Nerdtron, if y'know what I'm sayin'."  
"Sort of," Kurt allowed.  
"One of my friends said it best," said Sara, shaking his hand. "I have an elliptical, near-reality orbit."  
"Ah," Kurt managed. "I usually host rude questions within the first week. You can ask anything you like."  
For the first time in forever, Wanda appeared interested in a male. "Does that fur go *all* the way over?"  
"And that's one of the ones I don't answer," he grinned. "My apologies, fraulein, but intimate company only should know the answer."  
"You're good with numbers, Sara dear..."  
"No. Not in this instance."  
"What?"  
"Every being has the right to their lines in the sand. Or have you forgotten the Pink Room?"  
"You swore you'd never tell."  
"And I keep my word."  
Wanda backed down, looking over Kurt like she was evaluating him.  
"Just because he's covered in fur doesn't mean he's a pet or a toy, Wanda dear," Sara warned. "We made other promises, too, as you recall."  
Now she glared at Sara. "You have no power over me."  
"Thus I remind you of your power over your*self*."  
The air crackled with unsaid things. Then Wanda relaxed. "Fine," she said. "I always wanted to try a normal relationship."  
"So did I," murmured Todd.  
The meeting broke up as meetings do, with some recalling urgent errands and others noticing the time. They had days planned and things to do.  
"I sense a long story," said Kurt.  
"You're right. It *is* a long story. One that's not mine to tell."  
*  
Lance was good at coming up with Instant Plans. Haivng a girl who could literally walk right through his problems was something of a Godsend. Having that girl be his secret crush was a bonus. They shared a secret. He had an 'in'.  
And then someone spoke who wasn't there. "Observing one's love from afar can border on stalker-creepy... but using them for your own profit? Tisk. Tisk. Hardly the cornerstone of a stable relationship."  
He had to triangulate. Balled a fist. "Who said that?"  
A kiss on his cheek, and like the Cheshire Cat, it appeared grin first. "Hello, Mr Alvers. You are correct in that you're not the only one who's... special. Alas your genius falls over when it comes to treating your intended with due care and diligence."  
"Who the fuck are you?"  
"Sara Louise Adrien," it offered a hand. "Miracle worker."  
"And what kind of miracle will get me the tests before they're handed out?"  
"You're asking the wrong question, Mr Alvers. The right question is: What kind of miracle will get me -that is, *you*- away from ever having to acquire them in the first place?"  
"What's your angle?"  
"New foster home. Classy digs. The very best of extra-curricular activities including training your abilities for the best results."  
"I asked what your *angle* was?"  
"I thought I was telling you..."  
"What do *you* get out of it?"  
"Nothing much. I'm already in trouble for stowing away on the jet..."  
"So what's the catch?"  
"*Ah*. Yes. Well, I thought it was obvious. With a chance to reform comes the necessary obligation to actively *try* and reform. If Todd can turn his -ah- nefarious side to good works, why not you?"  
"You're the second person to make this kind of offer..."  
"Was she scary-creepy about it?"  
"Uh. Yeah."  
"Grey eyes, red hair? Blue?"  
Lance felt the blood drain from his face. "What do you know?"  
"She's one of our -ah- opposite force. Goes by the name of Mystique. Shapeshifter, assassin, political saboteur... you get the idea. We ran up against her when she tried to seduce Todd to her side. She's very... practiced, at the seduction. She'll sell you poison as sugar and watch you take it with a smile."  
"*She* said you guys were only going to use me."  
"For varying definitions of 'use'... perhaps. But she *is* stretching the truth to the snapping point. We're offering *you* a chance to use your*self* for the betterment of everybody."  
"And who decides what's 'better' for everyone?"  
It grinned. "Now *that's* a thinking question. Bravo." Its hands faded in and out of view as it clapped. "And the answer is: it's your choice. Once you learn to start thinking about and caring for everyone."  
"Yeah?"  
"Take this advance test copy thing as a for-instance," it said. "Short term, you profit monetarily and all your customers are happy, right?"  
"Yeah..."  
"Now spin forward to next year. Your customers are out of their depth in classes they haven't earned the right to be in, their possible futures tank as a direct result and they will inevitably blame *you* and seek retribution."  
"And I'll deal with 'em," Lance made the earth tremble.  
"You can't deal with all your problems that way."  
"Watch me," he told it as he stalked away.  
*  
Jean found her by her crowded mind before she saw her. "Serves you right for stowing away," she said. "Cheer up. You can't save everyone."  
"Well, the Professor's paperwork gambit is tenuous at best. He's almost 18. It won't fly."  
"C'mon. You can help me with Kitty Pryde. I think I tried the wrong tack."  
"Let me guess. Freaked out an already terrified teen with your spooky psi-powers?"  
"Um..."  
Sara sighed. "Fine. Let me have a go."  
*  
"With a rolly poly gammon and spinach..."  
Kitty shrieked.  
"Ah, you can see me.," the tall, thin creature beside her grinned. "Took a while. Either I'm getting worse or you were pre-occupied. Please tell me it was the latter?"  
"I... was kinda thinking a lot."  
A sigh of almost comical relief. "Good. When your power is to be ignored by everything organic, one can get rather paranoid about getting worse," the creature offered a hand. "Sara Louise Adrien. Mutant with the world's suckiest power."  
"Try falling through stuff, sometime."  
"Nightmares about falling through the world?"  
"*Yeah*."  
"Almost as bad as being a ghost only yourself can see... whilst needing medical attention."  
"Ow."  
"Or being in the room with everyone and not being a part of it."  
Kitty winced. "Can't you, like, get help or something?"  
"Only so much help possible, alas. My power is still in the latent stage, owing to some trauma. Apparently, the rest may pop out at any random moment. Hence the paranoia."  
"That *has* to suck."  
"I can tell you, it makes me glad to have a couple of telepaths around. All one has to do is think for help."  
"You're with *her*, aren't you?"  
"If it's any help, I stowed away," said Sara. "People wind up being *warned* about me for some reason. It's not even like I *deliberately* cause the things that happen..."  
"Um..." Kitty was edging away.  
"Sorry. I ramble. And it's been almost a year since the last disastrous experiment, anyway." Sara stopped and smacked herself in the forehead. "Sorry again. I have a near-reality orbit... but I'm definitely not crazy and not dangerous. I'm just... more peculiar than most."  
"Um..." said Kitty. She adopted the classic take-it-easy pose and was careful not to make any sudden moves. "Oh... kay...?"  
"The point I'm trying and failing to make is... it's okay to be scared of what's happening. Really. Every gift comes with its caveats. Perfect memory and the ability to process information at an accelerated rate has left me... skewed... against reality. I'm weird and I'm scary and I'm honestly trying to get better, but..." she sighed, slumping. "Obviously, I'm not doing that well."  
"Gee, you think?" said Kitty.  
Sara huffed a brief laugh. "IQ of 213 and I still can't figure out how to talk to people. It's not logical like math, or chemistry or even narrative... Sometimes? I'd give my right arm to be more like you."  
"Me? But I'm a dweeb."  
"You're a dweeb who can *flirt*. I just scare people."  
"Next time? Try just, like, *not* mentioning how harmless you are."  
"See? I can't figure that out. Why would the truth scare people?"  
"It's not exactly what you say, okay? It's the way you say it."  
"Really?"  
And Sara got her chatting. By the time Kitty was home, she'd almost forgotten why she was scared about the whole mutant thing. She was not there to be tempted by the attentions of chance into doing wrong. There was an earthquake at her old school. One of Lance's friends was crushed by falling debris. Lance saw it happen.  
It changed him.  
*  
Punishment detail is very rarely viewed as an opportunity for Zen reflection. Sara was the only one so far to accompany thankless tasks with a carefully chosen koan or ritual breathing or both.Which was why Logan found it off to discover her grunting in concealed distress.  
"Allergic to the soap?" he asked. It happened a lot with Treefrog. Never hurt to eliminate the possibility.  
"No. I've developed something of a rash, Mr Logan." She flexed, scratching her back and grimacing. "I'm trying not to let it bug me, but... argh..."  
Logan turned her around, inspecting the vast acreage between her tube top and the short shorts. There was a spreading redness with raised hives and blisters beginning in the middle of it. "How long?"  
"26 hours."  
He felt her head. Cool to the touch. "Been hungry?"  
"Not noticeably so. Thirsty, on the other hand..." Tallwater gestured vaguely at a small pyramid of empty water bottles.  
"Tired?"  
"No."  
"Bone-aches?"  
"Why are we running through the Manifestation Checklist?"  
"Because it looks a hell-load like it, Darlin'." He picked her up wholesale and began marching for the infirmary. "Punishment's on hold, yer comin' with me."  
_That may have to wait, Logan,_ the Professor 'said'. _Cerebro has detected a dangerous mutant in distress._  
Which meant the whole team went, in costume, and ready for anything.  
*  
{Bamf!}  
"What the--?"  
{bleargle} "Hokay... mental note: never grab a teleporter unawares..."  
Rogue turned, fists ready, to confront someone who was fading in and out of view. "Who are you? Why are y'all huntin' *me*?"  
"Hunting? We came to help..."  
"[Irene said you were hunters... I speak German?]"  
"Kurt speaks German. You've taken his skills and memories. I'm guessing by now it's a little crowded upstairs? I'd like to help."  
"Stay away from me!"  
The tall, androgynous thing in the simple black jumpsuit waved her hands. "Not going to hurt you. Promise. Just... listen to my proposal."  
"Ah'm listenin'..."  
"Part of my ability is the knack of processing vast amounts of information very quickly. I also happen to have some experience with mental partitioning. If you take my skills and memories... I could help you sort out the mess."  
"What's the catch?"  
"My most dominant power is the ability to be ignored; the illusion of me fading from view is caused by your eyes failing to look *at* me. It can get vexing, at times."  
"And... what do *you* get out of it?"  
"You took Todd. It may be the only way some part of me gets to spend any time with him at all."  
"But... neither of you will remember it."  
"I know. I still find the concept comforting."  
Marie thought hard about that one. Wanting what wasn't possible to such a large extent that knowing a portion of it actually existed was *comforting*... despite how far it was removed from the Wanter.  
That had to hurt worse than just not touching.  
Marie reached out to touch her outstretched hand... and at the last second, she seized it like a drowning person's last hope.  
_Oh my goodness, I forgot to tell her about that annoying rash..._ Sara looked out through Marie's eyes and watched herself crumple. _Oh._ She looked around inside her host's mindscape. So much confusion. She rolled up her sleeves and set to it, untangling threads of intermixed personas and ravelling them into separate areas.  
In the process of untangling, she had Marie 'build' The Hotel Infinity in her head. A place for all her absorbed people to be stored. Marie invented a bellhop to help with the emotional baggage and a Concierge a heck of a lot like Basil Fawlty.  
_Your nerd side is showing,_ teased the echo of Sara.  
_Go pack yourself away,_ 'said' Marie.  
*  
She was a lot more 'together' when Raven talked her into joiing the Brotherhood. Her Inner Sara spotted some flaws in the X-men that Marie/Rogue met. Yet she decided to stick with the Brotherhood... because someone needed to keep tabs on them.  
Rogue would pass coded messages to Sara's locker whenever she had the chance.


End file.
